Titanic
by Blaise88
Summary: "The china had never been used... the sheets had never been slept in... Titanic was called 'The Ship of Dreams' and it was. It really was..." Titanic movie done Death Note style. Light/L
1. Chapter 1

The crashing of the waves was all that could be heard above the sound of the whirring machinery surrounding him until Linda interrupted.

"Mell, satellite call for you." She said seriously.

"Linda… We're launching. Can't you see these submersibles going in the water?" Mello asked in an irritated tone.

"Trust me Mello." She said, gripping his shoulder tightly, "you _want_ to take this call."

Mello looked at her bemusedly before giving in, but not without a warning. "This had _better _be worth it, Lin, or it's _your _paycheck."

She smiled, saying "You should speak up, he's kinda old." Before handing him the phone; He took it from her hand and spoke.

"Hello, this is Mello Keehl, what can I do for you Mr.…" He looked to Linda for a name, "Yagami. Liam Yagami." she whispered, "Mr. Yagami?"

_Please, call me L. I was wondering, have you _found_ the heart of the ocean yet, Mr. Keehl?"_

Mello stared at Linda, a look of astonishment on his face. "Told 'ya you wanted to take this call." She smirked.

"You have my attention, L. Can you tell us who the young man in the picture is?"

_Oh, yes. The young man in the picture is me._


	2. Chapter 2

"HE'S A GODDAMN LIAR!" Matt shouted once again while he and Mello headed to the heli-pad to greet said 'liar', "Some nut-case seeking money or publicity, God only knows what! Like that Russian babe, Anastasia." He said this all around a cigarette while staring at his beloved PSP before putting it up and looking at Mello seriously. "Liam Lawliet _died,_ on the Titanic, when he was seventeen, right?" he asked. "That's right." Mello confirmed. "If he had _lived_ he'd be over a hundred by now!" He reasoned, "A hundred and seventeen next month." Mello answered confidently. "Okay… So he's a very _OLD _goddamn liar…" Matt shouted

"_They're inbound!" _They heard Linda shout.

"Look, Mell, I've done the background on this dude all the way back to the twenties, when he was working as an _actor. _AN _ACTOR_!" Matt was getting more passionate the closer they got, "There's your first clue, Sherlock! His name was Liam Yagami even back then! Then he moves to Cedar Rapids, and he adopts a couple of kids. Now the kids are dead, and from what I hear, Cedar Rapids is dead!" He exasperated, and was going to continue, till Mello rounded on him and glared. "Anyone who knows about the diamond is _supposed _to be dead or on this boat, but _he knows." _And with that, the argument ended and the helicopter landed.

Mello and Matt watched as the crew unloaded suitcase after suitcase from the helicopter. "Doesn't exactly travel lite, does he?" Matt grumbled around his newly lit cigarette as he stared at the young man getting out of the vehicle. Mello ignored him and ran up to the boy.

"Hello, Near, I assume?" the albino nodded. "Welcome to the Keehlvas." The blonde said with a genuine smile, then turned his attention to the older man making his way down the stairs. "Hello, Mr. Yagami." He said with slight awe in his voice. It surprised him how young the man appeared… he only looked to be in his early fifties…"Hello." The grey-streaked man answered simply in a deep baritone.

Matt observed from the distance till a quiet voice distracted him. "He only wants the diamond." The white-haired boy stated. "He wants to meet him too." Matt defended, "He's in awe right now." He told the albino, not looking away from the scene of Mello trying to help the old man walk… with numerous disregarded protests from aforementioned man...

Mello knocked on the doorframe to the old man's stateroom while observing him and the albino quietly placing photos on a table. "Are you enjoying your staterooms?" he interrupted. "Yes, they're lovely." L answered curtly. He then saw the blonde's attention was on the picture in his hand. "I have to take my pictures when I travel." He stated, "Have you met my grandson, Near?" he asked, noticing the redhead behind Mello for the first time and quickly diverting to a separate subject than what he had planned. "He looks after me." He looked to Near. "Yes, we've met." The albino confirmed. "Remember, L? Up on deck." He questioned. "Oh." L said, watching as the redhead rolled his eyes and uncross his arms to light a cigarette. "Well," Mello interrupted the tense atmosphere, "is there anything I can get for you? Anything you want?" he asked. "Yes," L said, a dreamy look coming to his obsidian eyes, "I would like to see my drawing."

(1st person)

L

I looked down into the shallow water in the box at the drawing I hadn't seen in nearly a century. It still looked the same apart from a slight browning of the paper. I remembered lying naked on that couch in the god-awful sitting room while he drew me…

*Flashback*

_Amber eyes barely seen over the sketch paper swept over his naked form and settled on his own deep black orbs before sliding back to the paper on which his almost-bare body was being immortalized. The young man's cheeks flushing at the idea of being observed in his current state before he was once again distracted by the burning gaze that sent flames licking over every inch of his skin…_

*end*

I opened my eyes again when Mello interrupts to nothing but the sight of my younger self on the paper.

"Louis the Sixteenth wore a fabulous stone, called the Blue Diamond of the Crown," he says, looking at the reference photo of the diamond, "which disappeared in 1792, about the time old Louis lost everything from the neck up. The theory goes that the crown diamond was chopped too... recut into a heart-like shape... and it became Le Coeur de la Mer, _The Heart of the Ocean_. Today it would be worth more than the Hope Diamond." He explains, looking into my eyes.

"It was a dreadful, heavy thing." I say, pointing to the drawing, "I only wore it this once."

"L, do you honestly believe this is you?" Near asked, gazing at me incredulously.

"It _is_ me, Near." I said boredly, "Wasn't I a dish?" I joked.

"I traced the insurance records all the way back to an old claim that was settled under absolute secrecy. Can you tell me who the claimant was, L?" Mello asked, staring hard into my eyes. "I should imagine it's someone named Morello." I stated, not fazed at all by the intense look. "That's right, Thierry Morello, Pittsburgh steel tycoon." Mello looked ecstatic, "For a diamond necklace his son Aiber bought for his lover… You… A week before he sailed on Titanic. It was filed right after the sinking, so that means the diamond must have gone down with the ship." He reasoned. "Sound logic." I commented, smirking to myself.

"What is all this supposed to mean?" Near interrupted, thoroughly confused and not enjoying it a bit. Mello pointed at the date under the initials L.Y. on the drawing. _My Light… How I miss you so…_ "April 14th, 1912?" Near questioned, still not quite understanding. "It means" Matt cut in, "that if your grandfather is who he _says _he is, then he was wearing the diamond the _day_ the Titanic sank." He looked very skeptically at Mello who now had his hand on my shoulder, eyes glowing with excitement. "And that makes you my new best friend. We will happily compensate you for anything you can tell us that will lead to its recovery." The blonde said seriously with a dazzling smile that could never compare with my Light's. I looked at the blonde with a critical eye before turning away and saying "I don't want your money, Mr. Keehl. I know how hard it is for people who care greatly for it to give some away." Snippily. The redhead, Matt Jeevas, rolled his eyes and said skeptically, "You don't want _anything?"_ I looked to him and pointed to the drawing of myself. "You may give me this, if anything I tell you is of value."

"Deal" I heard Mello say quickly.

We then crossed the room into another section of the lab and Mello informed me that these were things they'd recovered from my staterooms. Scattered across the tables were fifty or so objects, all ranging in value. I reached towards one I recognized, my fingers trembling as I lifted the tortoise shell hand mirror, inlaid with mother of pearl. I caressed it, staring wonderingly. "This was mine," I whispered, not trusting my voice, and look over the object. "How extraordinary! It looks the same as last time I saw it…" I comment, turning it over to examine my reflection, seeing my messy black-grey hair and the wrinkles around my eyes and mouth. I don't look as old as I am, but the difference is still noticeable. I frown and place it back on the table. "The reflection has changed a bit." I say, moving on to the next thing I recognize, a silver and moonstone art-nouveau brooch. "My mother's brooch. She wanted to go back for it." I say, "Caused quite the fuss."

I made to walk away when something else caught my eye. A small silver ring that looks cheap amongst everything else, but reminds me of so many things…

"Are you ready to go back to Titanic?" Mello asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I sat down to a computer as Matt began an animation of the sinking, explaining along in time with the computers animation. "Okay," he started, taking a deep breath, "so she hits the berg on the starboard side and kind of bumps along, punching holes like Morse code 'dit, dit, dit' down the side, below the waterline, now she's flooding in the forward compartments, and the water spills over the water-tight bulkheads, from E deck, then up and up… and as the bow goes down, the stern rises up, slow at first the faster and faster 'till her whole ass is sticking up in the air, and that's a big ass, I mean, we're talking twenty, thirty thousand tons… and the hull's not designed to deal with that kind of pressure, so what'll she do?" he makes a breaking sound and gestures a split with his hands, "She splits. Right down to the keel and the stern falls back, level, but as the bow begins to sink, the stern rises up, vertical till the bow finally detaches. Now, the bow section planes away, going twenty, thirty knots when it hits the ocean floor. 'BAM!'" he did the sound of a crash along with the speakers as I watched emotionlessly. "The stern just bobs there like a cork for a few minutes, floods, then finally goes under about 2:20 am, two hours and forty minutes after the collision."

He finally finishes his long winded and colorful portrayal of the sinking with a proud smirk. "Pretty cool, huh?" he asks me. "Thank you for that fine… _forensic_… analysis, Mr. Jeevas," I say monotonously, "but the experience of it was… somewhat different." I stated, still looking at the screen of the computer. "Will you share it with us?" Mello asks me, getting out a tape recorder.

I rise from my place seated in one of the office chairs and look over the many monitors displaying film collected from their expeditions. One in particular draws my eye and I remember passing thru those doors many times in the short time I had been there. "It's been… ninety nine years." I say, realizing for the first time how long it really has been. "It's okay, just tell us anything. Anything you remember." Mello prompts and I lose my patience. "Do you want to hear this or not, Mr. Keehl?" he shuts up and nods, and I continue, "It's been ninety nine years… and I can still smell the fresh paint…" I see it now as I close my eyes and loose myself to the memories… the smoke from those huge stacks, the sounds of people all around me admiring the large masterpiece, the smell of leather in that horribly expensive automobile I had travelled in with **that****man**… _"The china had never been used… the sheets had never been slept in…"_ I feel the hand upon mine as Aiber helps me out of the car, _"Titanic was called 'The Ship of Dreams', and it was..." _I lift my head to peek from under my hat and hair to look at the monstrous ship before me. _"It really was…" _


	3. Chapter 3

L

April 10th, 1912

I examine the ship with a critical eye, and judge it to be about 880 feet in length, quite a bit longer than any other ship I had seen or been on, but angering Aiber was one of my specialties, and he despised my indifference to his showing off.

"I don't see what all the fuss is about." I comment quietly, "It doesn't look any bigger than the Mauretania." I say nonchalantly although I can tell by looking it is approximately ninety feet longer.

"You can be blasé about some things, L, but not about Titanic!" Aiber shouts incredulously, "it's well over a hundred feet longer than the Mauretania! And much more luxurious…" I smirk at his incorrect estimate as he turns to help my mother from her car, saying "Your son is far too difficult to impress, Eve." She smiles at him and shoots me a look when his attention is drawn elsewhere. I read it like a grade school book. It says _don't you dare mess this up for us_. I look away from her back to the ship and begin to ponder my fate as I have so many times these past days…

Mother and I begin our walk towards the ship after Aiber joins us once again, "So this is the ship they say is unsinkable." Mother comments as we begin boarding, "It is unsinkable!" Aiber says with conviction, "God himself could not sink this ship!" He speaks with pride, almost that of a host providing a special experience. Two yelling steerage boys run past and one shoves Aiber in his pursuit of the other, the blonde man gives an annoyed glance and shouts "Steady!" at the boy. "I'm sorry, sir." the cockney father says as he pushes on after the shouting boys.

"Steerage swine." I hear Aiber comment, "Apparently missed his annual bath." I look away and try to ignore his unkind comments. I wish I could be like those boys, free to do as I want and not have to worry about what society demands of me.

"Honestly, Aiber," I pull myself from my fantasy as I hear my mother speak, "if you weren't forever booking everything at the last minute, we could have gone thru the terminal instead of running along the dock like some squalid immigrant family." I glare at her distastefully and turn away once again, planning on separating myself from them, until I hear my future business partner speak.

"All part of my charm, Eve." He says cockily, "At any rate," he continues, "it was your darling sons beauty rituals which made us late." He explains, an ever-present air of arrogance surrounding him.

"You told me to change." I defend quietly, still sounding as disinterested as I always did.

"I couldn't let you wear black on sailing day, dear," he says, giving me an incredulous look, "its bad luck." He says, as if it is a commonly known fact. I scowl at the mention of him 'letting' me do anything and think of the bruises on my wrists from his 'persuasion'.

"I felt like black." I say, effectively ending the conversation with my irritated tone. He doesn't want to anger me before boarding, and I know his reasons an am disgusted with them. I do not wish to give myself to such a horrible man.

As we make our way thru the loading doors I get a crawling feeling that I'm boarding a slave ship that is taking me back to America in chains. I know that I must give this man anything he wishes; Mother has told me so, if only to salvage what is left of our once proud name.

As I ponder this fate of mine I allow no emotions to slip thru my perfectly constructed mask of indifference. On the outside, I am everything a proper businessman should be, but on the inside… I'm _screaming_.

Light

I may not be able to quite understand what the Swedes' at our table may have said, but I can tell it's bad. I catch the word 'bijetter' which translates to 'ticket' so I assume they are upset about the possibility of losing their tickets to the U.S on the largest and most luxurious ship to ever grace the earth in a game of poker at a bar in England against a couple of Asian guys, but tough luck for them, because I most definitely plan on winning.

I had been to the U.S before, but needed something other than rainy, oppressive England. I had planned to go to France again, but… oh, Matsuda is talking to me. "Raito… What are-a you doing?" he asks. I give him a look to show him I don't understand. "You bet all our money…" he explains in Japanese. "It's ok. When you've got nothing, you've got nothing to lose." Is all I say in return.

"So," I continue, speaking to the other two as well now, showing Matsuda that they understand some English, "This is the moment of truth, boys. Somebody's life's about to change. Matsuda?" I ask, "Nothing." He states, looking at me with venomous eyes, "Olaf?" I ask the other man, he places his cards down to show he has nothing, "Sven?" I question the last man at the table, and he places down his cards with a smirk. He has something. I look at his hand then look to Matsuda with pleading eyes.

"Two pair. I'm sorry, Matsu…" He jumps out of his seat in rage and shouts, "'Sorry'?" in English, and then switches to his native Japanese, "Mother fucker! You bet all our money!—" I cut him off, also switching languages "I'm sorry, Matsuda, you're not gonna be able to see your mother for a long time…" he looks at me as if I've grown another head, "'Cause we're going to America! Full house boys!" I shout in English and slam my hand on the table for all of them to see. "Oh, god!" Matsuda yells, also switching back, "I can't berieve it, we go to America!" I nod and grab the tickets off the table to kiss them "I'm getting outta here!" I yell, but get interrupted by the barman, "No, mate," He says and jabs his thumb at the clock hanging on the wall, "Titanic go to America. In five minutes.

Matsuda and I scramble to gather all the money from the table and take off running towards the great ship. "We're ridin' in high style now!" I shout to Matsuda as he scrambles behind me, "We're like a couple of regular swells! Practically goddamned _royalty_, ragazzo mio!" I yell to him, dodging people and luggage and carts on our mad dash to the boarding ramp.

"WAIT!" I shout to a man detaching the ramp, running up to him, "we're passengers!" I say quickly, handing him our tickets. He looks over me, my cheap clothes covered in paint and coal, and asks, "Have you been thru the inspection queue?"

"Of course!" I lie, "Anyway, we don't have any lice. We're Americans, both of us." I say, indicating Matsuda behind me. "Right," he says skeptically, but accepting because of my perfectly American accent, "come aboard."

We jump over the gap as the officer eyes Matsuda's particularly Asian looks suspiciously, "Come on, Sven." I say to make the lie more believable as we make our way to steerage.

(3rd person limited)

Light

Light and Matsuda burst through a door onto the aft wall deck and run across the stairs to the poop deck. They get to the rail and Light joins the crowd in waving and shouting to the people gathered at the dock. "You know somebody?" Matsuda asks, "Of course not, that's not the point!" Light says to him before shouting once more, "Goodbye! I'll miss you!" Matsuda joins in and waves, shouting in heavily accented English, "Goodbye! I wir-a neva fo-get-a yuu!"

The crowd of cheering well-wishers becomes smaller and smaller as the Titanic gains speed, the impossibly tiny figures wave from the docks till they can no longer be seen.

Light and Matsuda walk down a narrow corridor with doors lining both sides, chaos surrounds them as people argue over luggage and rooms in several different languages or wander in confusion in the labyrinth of halls, consulting signs and phrase books for translations. They search the numbers on the doors, looking for their berth. When they find it, they go inside, Matsu quickly claiming top bunk as Light introduces himself to the other two men bunking with them. "Hi, I'm Light Yagami." He says, offering his hand in a western handshake gesture, and moves to the next man in the room, "Light Yagami." He repeats, and shakes hands again. He moves to put his pack on his bed and play-punches Matsu. "Var s Sven?" he hears one of the Swedes ask quietly as he walks out the door.

(1st person)

L

I eyed the painting I held in front of me, a Monet of water lilies, pondering where to put it in the already ornately decorated sitting room. I stared a bit longer before placing it on a lavish arm chair and returning to the boxes, looking for my personal favorite. "Do you want them all out, Liam?" Wedy, my nurse-maid from birth asks me, "Yes. We need a little bit of colour in this room." I answer quietly, still rummaging thru the many pieces of art. "Are you looking for one in particular?" she asks, used to my detachment by now. "Yes, it had a lot of faces on it…" I trailed off, finding the one I was looking for. "Here it is." I announce, examining the familiar painting lovingly. "Oh god, not those finger paintings again…" I hear Aiber say from behind me, and opt to ignore him, "they were certainly a waste of money." He continues, and I finally respond, "The difference between Aiber's taste in art and mine is that I have some." I say, still looking at my Picasso. "They're interesting. Like being in a dream." I explain to anyone listening. "There's truth, but no logic." I say as I place the painting reverently upon the mantle. "What's the artists' name?" Wedy asks me. "Hmm… Something Picasso." I say, forgetting the full name. "'Something Picasso'?" Aiber says, leaning on the door leading to the covered deck, "He won't amount to a thing. Trust me." He walks away, muttering to his manservant, Mikami, "At least they were cheap."

"It smells so new, doesn't it?" Wedy asks, folding sheets in the bedroom while I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I am preparing for bed, my too-thin form and porcelain skin makes me look sickly. I barely hear as Wedy continues her small-talk, "Just to think that when I crawl in bed tonight I'll be the first-"

"and when I crawl in bed tonight, I'll still be the first" Aiber interrupts, gazing at me wearing nothing but underclothes. Wedy blushes at his innuendo, and excuses herself. "The first and only. Forever." He says, placing his hands on my naked shoulders in an act of pure possession. I school my expression, trying not to show how bleak a prospect this is for me.


	4. Chapter 4

_2011_

"_At Cherbourg, a woman came aboard named Margaret Brown. We all called her Molly, but history would come to call her the Unsinkable Molly Brown. Her husband had struck gold somewhere out west, and she was what mother called 'new money'._

_By the next afternoon we were steaming west, off the coast of Ireland, nothing out ahead of us but ocean…"_

(1912, 3rd person limited)

Light

The ship glows with the warm creamy light of late afternoon. Light and Matsu stand right at the bow, gripping the curving railing as they stare out to sea. "I can see the Statue of Liberty already." Matsuda says and Light laughs, "very small of course." He admonishes, describing with his thumb and fore-finger exactly how small.

Light smiles, enjoying the breeze in his hair and the salty smell of the ocean, and leans over, looking down fifty feet to where the prow cuts the surface of the cold, north Atlantic water like a knife, sending up two glassy sheets of water.

(1st person)

L

"She is the largest moving object ever made by the hand of man in all history." Mr. Ruvie says in his English accent, we had been invited to have a tour of the ship by the engineer himself, and brunch as well, because of Aiber's incredible inability to understand _money does not impress me_.

"…And our master shipbuilder here, Mr. Wammy, designed her from the keel plates, up." He indicates a greying man in his late forties with a humble smile on his face. My attention is drawn to him as he turns the compliment away.

"Well, I may have knocked her together, but the idea was Mr. Ruvie's." he says, trying to divert attention from himself. "he envisioned a steamer so grand in scale, and so luxurious in its appointments, that its supremacy would never be surpassed. And here she is," he slaps the table, "willed into solid reality."

"Why are ships always being called 'she'?" Molly asks "Is it because men believe half the women around have big sterns and should be weighed in tonnage?" she reasons, looking to Mr. Ruvie. The table erupts in a giggle, though I can tell by looking she had meant it in a serious manner. She looks directly at me and says quietly, "just another example of these power-hungry men setting rules their way." I give her a small, but genuine, smile as the waiter arrives for our orders. I pull a cigarette and filter from my coat pocket when my mother and Aiber are distracted, and light up as I listen to Aiber order for me.

"We'll have the lamb." He says dismissively, not even polite enough to look at the man, "Rare. With very little mint sauce." And looks to me after he departs, asking, "You like lamb, right L?"

Molly, who had been observing the dynamic between us, says "Will you be cutting his meat for him too, Aiber?" in an irritated tone, then turns her attention before he can respond, "So," she continues, "who thought of the name 'Titanic'?" she asks, looking around the table, "Was it you, Roger?" she asks with a nod to Mr. Ruvie.

"Yes, actually," he answers, covering his mouth to swallow his food before continuing, "I wanted to convey sheer _size_, and size means: stability, luxury, and, above all, _strength_." He goes to continue, but I interrupt him.

"Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ruvie?" I ask, looking directly at him, my amusement not apparent in my monotone, "His ideas about the male preoccupation with size may be of particular interest to you."

Molly nods her head and giggles and Mr. Wammy covers his mouth to hide his laughter.

"My God!" my mother gasps at me with a disbelieving look on her face, "Liam! What's gotten into—?"

"Excuse me." I say before she can continue, and rise to go to the outside viewing decks.

"I do apologize…" I hear my mother say.

"He's a pistol, Aiber," Molly quips, "Sure you can handle him?"

"Well, I may have to start minding what he reads after all." I hear Aiber say rudely before they are out of earshot and I can get the fresh air I wanted.

Light

I sit on a bench in the sun on the great ship, my leather-bound sketching pad, my most valuable possession, out on my lap as I draw a man holding his young daughter up at the railing of the ship with one of my conte crayons. She leans back against her father's beer-belly as he points out seagulls flying about the ship to her, and my eyes focus on the scene before me as my hand makes sure strokes against the rough paper of the sketch pad.

"That's typical," an angry voice breaks my concentration and I look up to see the speaker, a scowling Asian man with a fluffy head of black hair, watching as a crewmember walks three small dogs. "First class dogs come down here to take a shit." His scowl worsens and I offer my opinion.

"Ah, shows us where we rank in the scheme of things." I say, offering my hand to the stranger, "Light Yagami," I say. "Shuichi Aizawa." He replies, accepting the western gesture. I glance over his shoulder as the sun glints off something on the upper deck. "Like we could forget" I vaguely hear him say, as my eyes are drawn to the most exotically beautiful person I have ever seen.

I find myself completely unable to take my eyes off him, he reminds me so much of a character in a tragic romantic novel, sad and isolated, and all I want to do is comfort him. We are across from each other, about sixty feet apart, but I feel as if I am right next to an angel.

I examine the first-class boys' interesting features. Pristine clothing, a light yellow waistcoat over a white long-sleeved dress shirt and light beige trousers, all of which made his mussed black hair, slightly bohemian in its longer style, like my own, stand out all the more, his pale skin absolutely glowing in the still-rising sun.

"Beautiful." I say aloud without realizing as he turns to look at me, glancing only for a second before looking away, then turning back and staring at me just as unabashedly when I refuse to look away. Our eyes meet across the space of the wall deck, across the gulf between our worlds, and I get lost in the depths of those dark eyes.

He tilts his head in an adorable show of curiosity, and his eyes move, only for a second, to the sketch pad in my lap as a tall blonde man comes from behind and turns him forcibly, red in the face with anger. He grabs the angels arm and attempts to force him back inside the A-deck promenade, but the raven pulls away. They argue shortly in pantomime before the beautiful raven storms away, disappearing inside. I stare after him as the violent man follows in irritation.

"Ah, forget it, boy-o." I hear Aizawa say, "You'd as like have angels fly out your ass than get next to the likes of _him._" He says, obviously having noticed my preoccupation. I still stare at the place he disappeared to, hoping to see him again, and I completely miss the sad, pitying smile Aizawa sends my way.


	5. Chapter 5

L

I stare at my plate, disgusted by the food Aiber ordered for me. We are having dinner in the ornately decorated first-class dining parlour, and I hear laughing all around me. I ponder my life and what has become of it. Earlier in the evening, as I was in my quarters staring at one my paintings, Aiber came to my room…

_(Flashback)_

_I sat on the bench to the vanity, facing towards my Degas of a ballerina mid-spin. I turned as I heard the door to my room open and see the man I loathed standing there arrogantly, like a king. _

_I looked away from his smirking face and stared at the painting once again, thinking about the boy from that morning who'd stared so openly at me, looking so enchanted. I wished I could have seen what he had been drawing…_

"_I know you've been melancholy." Aiber said quietly from the door. "I don't pretend to know why." He looks down and moves into my room, I flinched as he walked up behind me. He pulled a large black velvet jewelry case from behind his back and moved to kneel down in front of me. I stared at the box disinterestedly, as I did everything else, and refused to look at Aiber's surely smirking face._

"_I intended to save it for the opening ceremony next week, but I thought… tonight." He said as he opened the box suddenly, I couldn't hold back my gasp of horror, which he took as one of joy I'm sure… _

"_Perhaps this is a reminder of my… feelings for you." Aiber said, trying still to have me look him in the eye._

"_Is it a—?" I began. _

"_Diamond?" he finished for me, "Yes." He said, as if it should have been glaringly obvious. "Fifty-six carats, to be exact." He mentioned as he removed it from the case and went behind me to place it around my neck, turning me towards the mirror. The silver-and-diamond chain went well with my skin and the deep blue diamond set off my pale features perfectly. _

_I hated it immediately._

"_It was worn by Louis the Sixteenth," he said lovingly, gazing at my reflection which stared back at my own eyes blankly, "and it was called 'Le Coeur de le Mer'." He explained. _

"_The Heart of the Ocean." I repeated in English. "It's overwhelming." _

"_It's for royalty, L," he responded, and I despised him for using my beloved nickname, it sounded like poison from his lips, "we _are _royalty." He told me, and knelt once more in front of me._

"_There's nothing I couldn't give you, L." he said, and I finally looked him in the eye, as I had realized what was going on. "There is nothing I'd deny you, if you wouldn't deny me." The lust was obvious in his eyes as well as in his words. He wanted my body. "Open your heart to me, L…" he said, placing a hand on my cheek. _

_I looked in the mirror again at the necklace. I didn't hate it so much anymore. It was like me. One of a kind, cold and hard, with things hidden that no one would ever see…_

_(end flashback)_

I'm seeing my whole life as if I've already lived it… an endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches… always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. I feel as if I'm standing on the edge of a great precipice, one leg hanging off, with no one to pull me back. No one who cared, or even noticed.

My grip on the fork I hold under the table tightens, and I poke the small crab fork into the pale skin of my forearm, harder and harder until it draws blood.

I excuse myself from the table, the only person even acknowledging my departure being Mr. Wammy.

I walk along the ships corridors, smiling at stewards who nod as they pass me, my mask not slipping a bit till I get to my rooms.

I stand in the middle of the room for a while, staring at my reflection in the large vanity mirror. I walk closer to it slowly, observing my cautionary movements in the glass, before running forward and knocking the vanity over with all my strength. I start grabbing anything I can reach, throwing it all in random directions. I stare at the disaster that is my room and run out, as fast as I can, along the B deck promenade.

I shove past people, not caring any longer about social appearances. Not one person stops me to ask what is wrong, although I am clearly disheveled; hair flying everywhere and my face streaked with tears…

Light

I lay kicked back on one of the many benches on the stern deck, staring up at the stars blazing gloriously overhead as I take a lazy drag from my cigarette.

Hearing something, I turn as the beautiful boy from this morning runs passed, quiet sobs issuing from his mouth. He doesn't see me in his rush, so I rise to follow him, curious to why he is crying and wanting to comfort the angel.

I follow him quietly across the deserted fantail. His breath hitches in occasional sobs, which he suppresses. I watch as he slams against the base of the stern flagpole and clings to it, panting, before walking ahead to the white-painted railing. He starts to climb over, and I approach slowly, not wanting to startle him into letting go.

He is facing toward the water now, his back toward the railing, facing out to the blackness of night as he looks down into the vortex the propellers create sixty feet below. He leans further, and I panic.

"Don't do it…"

He whips his head around in surprise at the sound of my voice, his beautifully deep black eyes glassy with unshed tears. His face alone is more tragic than Romeo and Juliet…

"Stay back!" he says, "Don't come any closer!"

Although I am mesmerized by his smooth baritone voice, the adrenaline in my system forces me to focus. I see the tear streaks on his face in the faint glow from the stern running lights.

"Take my hand," I offer, sticking it out towards him, "I'll pull you back in." I say, praying he will come to his senses and accept.

"No!" he shouts, "Stay where you are… I mean it. I'll let go…" he threatens. I hold out my burnt-out cigarette, motioning to throw it over the railing. He nods and I move a couple steps closer to the suicidal raven.

"No you won't." I say, keeping up the conversation.

"What do you mean, 'no I won't'?" he asks indignantly, "Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do! You don't _know_ me…"

"You would have done it already." I reason, "Now come on, take my hand." I say, still holding it out to him, much closer now than before.

He glares at my hand and faces back to the abyss. "Go away." He demands, "You're distracting me."

I look at him softly, although he can't see. "I can't." I say, "I'm involved now. If you let go, I'll just have to jump in after you." I say with conviction.

He looks at me like I've lost my mind.

"Don't be absurd, you'll be killed." He says unconvinced, looking at me now as I remove my jacket.

"I'm a good swimmer" I say, unlacing my left shoe.

"The fall alone would kill you…" he sounds less sure this time as he attempts to reason with me.

"It would hurt." I tell him, removing my left shoe, "I'm not saying it wouldn't. To be honest, I'm a lot more concerned about the water being so cold." I say, beginning to unlace my other shoe.

He looks down, the reality of it all finally sinking in as he asks "How cold?" in such a quiet voice I almost can't hear him.

"Freezing." I say, removing the other shoe, "Maybe a couple degrees over." I reason as I look down at the churning water, leaning on the railing now, prepared to grab him should he release. "Ever been to New York State?" I ask, thoroughly confusing him.

"What?" he asks, perplexed.

"Well they have some of the coldest winters around. I grew up there, around Niagara falls." I say, looking out into the blackness of the ocean. "Once, when I was a kid, my father and I went ice-fishing out on Lake Ontario." I look at him and see his still-confused face. "Ice-fishing is where you—"

"I _know_ what 'ice-fishing' is!" he defends vehemently.

"Sorry…" I say, surprised at the emotion in his voice, "You just look like kind of an… indoor guy…" I explain, and he looks back toward the water, so I quickly distract him. "Anyway, I fell thru some thin ice, and I'm tellin' ya, water that cold, _like right down there,_" I say, looking directly in his eyes now, "it hits you like a thousand knives, stabbing you all over your body. You can't breathe, can't think… at least not about anything but the pain." We both turn to the churning deadly waters below, "which is why I'm not looking forward to jumping in after you. But like I said…" I pull the straps of my suspenders down now, letting them hang at my hips, "I don't have a choice." I look at his beautiful face hopefully, "I guess I'm kinda hoping you'll come back over the rail and let me off the hook here…" I give him a crooked smile and he stares at me incredulously.

"You're crazy…" is all he says, still looking at me.

"That's what everybody says," I tell him, "but with all due respect, I'm not the one hanging off the back of a ship here." I move closer to him and offer my hand again. "Come on." I prompt, "you don't want to do this… give me your hand."

He stares at me for a long time, his eyes seeming to fill my universe.

"Alright." He finally agrees, and takes my hand, turning to face me carefully. I hold his hand in mine and smile at him.

"I'm Light Yagami." I say, holding him steady.

"Liam Lawliet… I prefer L." He tells me.

"Nice to meet you, L." I say and he laughs. He moves to take a step onto the railing and his slickened leather shoes cause him to lose his footing, he shrieks and fumbles to grab my hand more firmly. "I've got you." I assure him, using both hands to hold onto him as he grabbed for the railing with his free hand. "I'll never let go." I promise him, "Now pull yourself up!" I urge, getting fatigued from holding his weight, even though it was minimal.

He began using his free hand to pull himself up, me pulling along. Once he got close enough I wrapped my arms around his tiny waist, pulling him back over the railing, both of us falling to the ground panting, myself on top of the immensely relieved L.

I lift myself up to ask L if he is ok, he nods, the blush on his face deepening as he notices the position we are in.

"what's all this!" I hear and look towards the voice. It is a burly officer glaring at me with disgust. He grabs me by the back of my shirt, hauling me away from L with ease as two other officers arrive. They look at L now sitting up on the deck, face streaked with tears and clothing rumpled, his dress shirt half untucked, and then to me, the shaggy steerage man with my jacket off, and they draw their own conclusions.

"Fetch the Master at Arms!" the large man holding me orders them, and they obey immediately.


End file.
